


Exactly Like My Father

by G00seberry



Category: Jjba - Fandom, Jojo’s bizarre adventure
Genre: Gen, I’ll update the tags later i have no brainpower rn, Post-Canon, like two years after, trish is a popstar you go girl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26034406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/G00seberry/pseuds/G00seberry
Summary: Trish loses the Genetic Lottery.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Exactly Like My Father

The blare of the alarm clock woke up a groggy young girl from her rest, a hand slithering out from under the sheets to slam on the button on the machine. There were a few seconds of stillness, until the mass of sheets ruffled underneath again as Trish sat up where she slept, running a hand through her messy, undone hair, grabbing her phone and unlocking it, scrolling through her feed. 

After about fifteen minutes of scrolling, Trish tosses aside the phone onto the empty bedside next to her, swinging the covers over and sliding her legs out, toes touching the floor. She gets up, brushing her messy hair from her eyes as she shuffles her way to the bathroom for her daily routine. 

_I should have brought my phone with me,_ she realizes as she takes her toothbrush and the toothpaste, squeezing out a dollop and running the head under the water. Sticking it in her mouth, she starts to brush, messing with and looking at a tuft of her hair out of the corner of her eye, when she notices something. _A black mark?_ She disregards it, finishing up and spitting out the foam, grabbing the mouthwash and pouring a cup, then taking it. Her hair falls into her face once more, leaving her to wonder again. _I showered before I went to bed… maybe there was something in my sheets?_ A shiver as she briefly suspected bugs. But she had changed her bedding just two days ago… She’ll check after she gets ready. Again, she spits, and runs the water, watching as it flows down the drain. She isn’t sure how long she was staring until she was brought back, and reached for her facial cream to lather up and apply. Finally looking up at herself in the mirror as she went to freshen up, her hands freezing just at her cheeks as she finally noticed. 

Her _hair_.

Quickly rinsing off the cream from her hands, Trish raked her wet hands through her spotty hair. _Spots. Black ones. Everywhere._ She grabbed a tuft and ran her fingers against the spot, desperate for it to rub off. But it didn’t. There was no staining on her finger, no sign of fading away. It was there, and it was staying. Panic started to rise up in her chest as she blasted the water on again, cupping her hands and scrubbing at a tuft of her mullet, using her hand soap to wash at the hair, to no avail. It was still there. Her heart was racing with anxiety as she fluffed her hair over and over and over again, almost wishing that it would be bugs that fall out into the sink and the dots would be gone, but nothing fell except a few already-dead strands of her former, pure pink hair. 

_Giorno. I should call Giorno._ Rushing into her bedroom, she threw off the sheets that covered the device and dialed the number with shaky hands, nearly pressing the wrong contact and calling Mista, of all people. Arms feeling weak, Trish put the call on speaker and rushed back to the bathroom, taking up her comb and running it through her locks, the phone ringing once before being picked up. 

“Trish? It’s a quarter till seven, why are you calling so early?” Giorno’s voice is groggy, something rare, that most no one has ever heard before- he makes a point to be as presentable as possible over the phone.   
“It’s my hair, GioGio. There’s black spots everywhere. I can’t get them out they won’t go away I look just like him-“   
“Trish.” Giorno cuts her off mid sentence. “I need you to slow down. What’s wrong?” His voice changes in what seems like seconds, to a soft, clear, understanding tone. Trish’s hand slows. “My hair,” she replies, noticing how choked up she sounds. “It changed over night, just like yours did… the spots. There’s the black marks splattered everywhere, they won’t go away Giorno! I have an interview at nine, I can’t look like this, I can’t look like _him_!”

It’s silent on the don’s end for what seems like ages as tears begin to slip past the girl’s eyelashes, down her rosy cheeks and trickling into the corner of her mouth. They’re salty, bitter. She wipes them away. Finally, he begins to talk.   
“I don’t know what answer you want, but I’ll tell you this. When my hair changed, I just told people the truth. I didn’t care whether or not people believed me when I said it was genetics. All I know is that the people who really cared about me didn’t question me.”   
“But it’s not the same! You don’t know what it’s like when people look up to you, when someone wants to grow up to be _just like you_! What do you tell them when your image changes? When they ask you why you did it and you _don’t have an answer_? You’re not somebody’s _idol_!”  
Silence.   
“GioGio, I’m sor-“  
“It’s okay, Trish. But I can’t help you. This is something you need to figure out on your own.”   
The hang-up tone echoes through the bathroom, as Trish sets down her comb, staring at the contact info screen. She upset him, he never hangs up without saying goodbye. More tears run down her cheeks as she looks herself in the mirror, messy hair down over her face. 

_Exactly like my father_.

A silent sob escapes her as she covers her freckled face from her own offending gaze, standing in front of the mirror with her head in her hands.


End file.
